The Cure for What Ails You
by Scarlett88
Summary: This episode fits into 6x12, 'Quality of Mercy', and deals with one possible scenario to expand upon the phone call between Don and Betty A/N: This story is somewhat darker than my usual fair. It may lack the typical happy ending, but then not all stories are meant to end happily. If you look towards the end, there's a glimmer of hope, which can lead to eventual happiness.


**A/N: This was written because a phone call between these two is not enough, not by a long shot. Thanks to all who read and review.**

Betty Draper picked up the cream colored phone, balancing it on the side of her chin. Trepidation was showing in her fingers as she struggled to dial the familiar number, one that had been etched in her heart several months before. She hadn't spoken to him since parents weekend at Bobby's camp, arranging for Henry or Loretta to be present when the children were dropped off or picked up for certain weekends. It was easier that way. _Easier for everyone, _Betty reminded herself, the memory of that summer evening all too poignant. Like a bolt of lightning, she collided with her ex-husband, the cause of so much pain, anger, remorse, and now regret. She didn't want to be that woman, the one who cheated on her husband, the husband who had given up so much just to be with her. She had told Don that she didn't feel any guilt over their night together, as brief as it was. Yet she was the one who crept out of bed early that morning, getting dressed to meet Henry when he arrived for breakfast, not talking to Don in the process. She was the one who felt her heart jump when Don came into the cafeteria that morning, biding a respect greeting to her and Henry. He knew what she was thinking; that they needed to distance themselves from one another, after an evening of closeness, a temporary armistice between two feuding sides.

They had been married for ten years, and had three children together. Now one of their children, the oldest Sally, was forcing Betty to break the distance that had lasted over the summer.

Betty braced herself against the wall of the kitchen, trembling with each dial. She was calling him at home, having gotten word from his secretary that he went home sick for the day. She quietly wondered how ill he was. Did he have a fever, the flu, a rash, or was he merely hung over.

"Hello?"

"Oh," Betty said softly, pausing to collect her thoughts. A tired, weary voice gave Betty cause to believe that it was the latter illness. "Your girl said you went home sick."

"I am," Don lazily drawled.

"If you're too sick to talk, I can wait."

"I can talk."

"It concerns Sally."

"What about her?"

Betty could sense an edge in his voice, perhaps nerves. "She's not coming this weekend either." Sally had been opting out of weekend visits to see Don and Megan over the past month, a strong departure from the daddy's girl who treasured her weekends in the city with her father.

"Oh."

Betty could now detect hurt in Don's voice, one that she was all too familiar with.

"You should tell her that if she does come, I'm going to be working all weekend."

"Why would I tell her that?" Betty knew for a fact that the children often spent more time with Megan on weekend visits than their own father. "It could have been being held hostage by that burglar, or the fight she had with her friend after model UN, but she says she's not going again."

"What do you want me to do about it?"

Betty coughed slightly, getting to the heart of the matter. "I don't know if it's a good thing or a bad thing, but she wants to go to boarding school."

"I'll pay for all of it."

"She has to get in of course."

"How much does that cost?"

"Eleanor – Henry's daughter – went there and I think she'll interview well. She has good manners with everyone but me."

"She'll get in."

Betty couldn't help but smirk at her husband's confidence. "I don't know Don, it's Miss Porters; Jackie Kennedy went there."

"You mean Jacqueline Kennedy Onassis," Don reminded her.

Don's sultry drawl sent chills up Betty's spine. Her mind was telling her to hang up now, she had told him everything that she needed to. "What kind of medicine are you taking for this cold?" she ventured, tempting fate and pressing her luck.

"Formula 44."

"Yeah I bet," Betty mused with a raised eyebrow, twisting the long strand of pearls around her neck. "Jackie did well twice."

"So did you."

Betty felt her heartbeat begin to accelerate. She hated the fact that his voice could solicit a reaction from her. "I'm going to go," Betty said finally, knowing that she was going to have to be the one to end the conversation.

"Betts, will you tell her that Megan….that we both miss her."

With that one little plea, Betty felt her a lump forming in her throat. She knew that Don loved the kids, whether he showed it to them or not, and it seemed clear that he was missing his only daughter. "Of course," she stammered, barely able to get the words out. She hung up the phone without saying a proper goodbye, walking to the sink for a glass of water.

She could picture him clearly in her mind: dressed in his bathrobe, bottles strewn around the room, a glass close to his hand, the scent of cigarette smoke permeating through the air. There was a certain childlike quality to him when he was wounded or hurt, be it personally or professionally. Betty had likened him to a frightened little boy at times, on the rare occasions when she was able to see him at his most defenseless.

Betty licked the droplets of water that fell on her bottom lip, her curiosity about her elusive ex piqued even further. Betty turned her attention to the wall calendar; she had no plans for the rest of the day – no Junior League, no political functions, shopping errands, mindless cleaning, lunch dates. She was free – free to see him.

Betty pulled out some of her favorite ingredients from the kitchen cabinet. She would see him, and she would come very prepared – unlike the run-in at camp, where passion took over everything else. Betty knew her chicken soup recipe by heart, and she also knew that it was one of Don's favorite dishes. A smile formed on her mouth as she kept her hands busy, going through the motions of preparing one of her classic dishes, for someone who would truly enjoy it.

* * *

Betty parked the car in front of the apartment complex, checking her appearance once more in her compact. She could feel butterflies flying in her stomach as she touched the door handle. A spark of electricity hit her index finger as she opened the door and stepped out. She hoped that he was alone in the apartment, she hadn't bothered to check over the phone but could only assume that Megan was busy with her daytime soap opera. Betty had never bothered to watch the new Mrs. Draper stumble through lines on national television, but some of the women in the neighborhood couldn't get enough of her.

Betty greeted the doorman with a courteous hello, politely rejecting his offer to call the apartment before coming up the elevator. She didn't want to draw excess attention to herself, and if he wasn't at home, she would have taken it as a sign that coming was a poor decision.

The elevator ride up seemed far too short for Betty, who was trying to rehearse what she would say to her former husband. _I was just coming over to see if you were alright? I wanted to discuss Sally's schooling in person? I was in the area and thought I would just pop in for a little visit? I still miss you? _That last thought hit her like a bullet. It was the closest answer to the truth, and she couldn't bring herself to say it out loud.

The elevator doors parted and Betty stepped onto the hard tile, pleased to see that the halls were empty. Turning the corner, she reached her target apartment, 17B. Taking in a final deep breath, she knocked on the door, straightening her body in the process.

She waited ten seconds, hearing nothing, and was tempted to once again turn around. Betty turned on her heels, ready to depart for the elevator when the door opened, revealing an unshaved Don Draper.

"Betts?" Don slurred his words, bracing himself against the doorframe and blinking to make sure that it was her.

Betty turned her head, her curls brushing against her neck. "You said you were sick," Betty said, holding up her container of soup. "You always loved my chicken soup."

"Still do," Don replied, stepping aside to let her in.

"Is Megan home?" Betty asked, stepping into the apartment. It was less tidy and kept than usual, with strewn napkins, tissues, dishes and bottles, plenty of bottles.

"Nope." Don placed the soup in the fridge and pulled out a bottle of wine from the cupboard.

Betty eyed her –ex-husband's movements. "So how sick are you?"

Don let out a sultry laugh, handing a glass of wine to Betty, who nervously accepted it. "I was bored and tired…until you came along."

Betty placed her glass on the counter, without taking a sip. She had seen her husband like this before – sloppy, with his inhibitions severely lowered. It normally happened after having several drinks too many. Don Draper knew how to handle his liquor, but every man had a breaking point, where the drug takes over the body and mind. It frightened Betty to see ex this way.

"Well I'm sure the soup will cheer you up," Betty replied, diverting the subject.

Don stepped closer to the young blonde. "Won't you stay and finish your drink."

Betty shyly shook her head. "I actually have somewhere to be, I was just passing by the area and…"

"You were just passing by in Manhattan?" Don asked with a raised eyebrow. "What sort of business did you have out here?"

"The personal kind," Betty said quickly. "You really don't seem well. Maybe you should lie down," she suggested.

"Will you join me?" Don smirked, taking the glass to the sink.

Betty felt color rising to her cheeks. "We both know that isn't a good idea."

"And why is that?" Don challenged, returning to the living area. "Isn't that why you came here?"

"What?" She could feel the light hairs on the back of her neck rise.

"You know what." Don quickly closed the gap and reached for her arm.

Betty anticipated his movements and backed toward the door. "You don't know what you're doing. You're drunk."

"And you are gorgeous," Don breathed.

Betty flinched, his drunken breath warm on her face. She tried to reach for the doorknob, only for Don to grab her arm and press his mouth against hers.

Betty shrieked and tried to pull away. "Stop!"

Don ignored her wishes, digging his nails into her body.

"Don!" her voice was muffled under his body, her eyes wide with fear. There was nowhere for her body to go, now backed against the door of the apartment.

His grip on her increased and tightened as he pressed his body up against hers.

Betty struggled against Don's grasp, her body trapped in his touch. She twisted her arm in an attempt to break free, only to squeal in pain, getting nowhere in her efforts. "Please," she hissed in-between harsh, brittle kisses.

"You know you want it," Don insisted, moving to her neck, his breath searing her like a fire.

Betty closed her eyes in an attempt to block out the scene, but there was nothing that she could do. She was at his mercy.

Don rubbed her neck with his thumb, one hand still gripping her arm. "Let go," she begged, her voice becoming desperate.

"You came here for this." Don sucked at her earlobe.

Betty pushed at Don with her one free hand, seeing a sliver of an opening while he continued to assault her body with kisses. His lips were chapped against her mouth, creating sparks of electricity to shoot out. Betty pushed harder, throwing whatever she could of her body weight against her assailant.

Don grabbed Betty's hair as she tried to pull away. Don yanked at Betty's pearls as she tried to run causing the necklace to break, sending beads all over the apartment floor.

Don released his grasp on Betty and looked down at the mess on the ground. He quickly looked up to find her rubbing her right wrist, now swollen and red from the tension.

"Birdie," Don stammered, looking into her eyes, now dark and filled with tears. "I – I don't know what came over me."

Betty trembled in the room, feeling her legs beginning to weaken.

"Are you hurt," Don ventured.

Her breathing became heavy and labored, her body shaking.

Don stepped toward her, offering her his arm. "I didn't…I didn't mean to…"

Betty pushed his arm away, attempting to regain her footing. "Stay away from me," she hissed, running out the door, not caring about her tattered and reddened appearance. She bolted past the stray whispers, letting them keep their gossip as she slammed her fingers against the elevator buttons. She didn't have a great deal of time, for fear that he would run after her. Betty ran toward the stairwell, nearly tripping down as she raced down the bottom steps.

She placed her hand over her heart, hearing and feeling the alarming rate. "I have to get out of here," Betty exhaled, lifting her arm for a taxi, for anyone.

* * *

Betty stepped out of the elaborate master bathroom in the mansion on the hill. Reaching for a white fluffy towel, Betty engulfed herself in its warmth. It was her third shower that day, and she still felt dirty and violated. Never once had Don, in all of his angry rages, forced himself on her in such a manner. She had believed him to be more gentlemanly than that, someone who wouldn't have to force a woman to make love to him. _What if I hadn't of gotten away? What if he hadn't stopped? _Betty rubbed at her skin with the extra towel as hard as she could, wincing from the rubbing but not caring at all. She had to feel clean.

It was fortunate for her that Henry was staying in New Jersey at a convention for the week. Bobby and Gene were safe in in their respective rooms, none any wiser to what had transpired earlier that day.

Betty reached for her favorite silk bathrobe, the one with the floral patterns and slipped it around her body, tying it hard against her waist. Betty brushed past the mirror, afraid to look at herself.

_Was I asking for it, _Betty wondered as she slipped her feet into her slippers. _How many signs did I see that I wound up ignoring because I had to see him again? Him? Why am I so willing to go to him at the smallest of urges? What is that power that he has over me? That after everything that he's done, every lie, every affair, every insult, every brush off, and I come back for more._

Don paused in the round driveway that led to the Francis house. He had been sitting in the car idly waiting and wondering. Wondering if Henry's car was going to roll into the driveway. Wondering if Betty would see him – if she would ever speak to him again.

He rubbed at his eyes. Over the past forty years he had made more than his share of mistakes, but he had never felt so low as he did right now. Never once had he ever forced himself on a woman, any woman. Women normally came so easily to him, all enthralled with the mysterious qualities that he held. And then there was her; no woman in the world held a candle to her. Married or not, happy with him or furious, Elizabeth Francis was the woman who consumed his thoughts, and that never changed.

It took mere moments to detect the root of his problem, and it wasn't just his unresolved feelings for his ex. It was the reason that he was home that morning instead of the office, the reason that he was late to meetings and doing his job halfway – it was the drink, plain and simple. It was hard for him to admit that he couldn't handle his liquor as well as he once did. It used to be that he could drink anyone under the table with little effort. Now, he didn't know if it was the amount he was drinking, or why he was doing it, but something was going to need to change, and his encounter with Betty was enough to push him to action.

Don stepped out of the car, counting the steps to the front door. He was determined to make it up to her, no matter what it took, no matter what it cost him. Don rang the bell to what he had once considered the house owned by Lurch and Morticia Addams.

"May I help you?"

Don fumbled with his words, now face to face with the Francis family maid, whose name he could not remember.

"Is Betty – Mrs. Francis in?"

"Come right in Mr. Draper," the woman instructed, and Don followed her footsteps into the parlor. The style of the room didn't seem to reflect Betty at all, but rather more of what a proper political family would be. Betty loved the occasional antiques, in the right setting, yet the room seemed filled with artifacts that belonged in a different time period. Don touched a stray table, pleased to see that the unnamed maid was doing her job, and that one thing about his ex-wife was still the same.

* * *

Don paused in the hallway, hearing hushed tones from upstairs. He knew there was a chance that she could turn him away with no explanation necessary. She could tell Henry what had transpired, and use it against him in custody arrangements.

A slim figure walked down the upstairs hall, gripping the railing. _She's going to see me after all, or throw me out herself, _Don decided. He watched her slow movements as she glided down the staircase, ever the prim and proper lady. He breathed as she hit the bottom step. "I'm surprised you're willing to even see me."

Betty tugged at the belt of her bathrobe, stray droplets of water falling onto the floor. "I suppose you're going to give me an explanation?"

"I was going to start with an apology," Don said slowly, soaking in her appearance and presenting her with a large floral bouquet, attached together with a pink lace bow. There were red and white roses, carnations, hyacinths, and tulips. It was unusual for him to give an assorted arrangement to her, or to any woman for that manner, but he couldn't pick the perfect petals for the occasion, and aimed for a bigger approach.

"Well?" Betty prompted, crossing her arms over her chest, shaking her head at the flora.

"I was very drunk," Don started.

Betty bit her lower lip. "What else is new? You know I was actually worried about you on the phone? I don't know why I even bother."

"I wasn't myself," he continued. "I haven't been feeling myself for some time." Don waited for Betty to let him continue. "I've been drowning my sorrows for so long, it just became second nature to me."

"That doesn't explain why you tried to…to force me to…" Betty faltered, unable to get the words out.

Don rubbed at his eyes. This wasn't going to be easy. "I've been thinking about you a lot lately, ever since summer."

Betty felt her fingers and toes tingle at Don's admission of the same feelings that had been plaguing her.

"I haven't been able to get you out of my mind since then," he continued. "Seeing you today, I lost control. You have to know that I would never want to hurt you that way."

Betty shyly nodded her head. "I was so frightened."

Don reached into his pocket and pulled out a long box. "To replace the ones that you lost."

"Lost?"

"The pearls," Don opened the box revealing an exquisite champagne colored pearl necklace.

"Pearls," Betty reached forward to touch a single bead. She had forgotten the broken pearls in her haste to get out of the apartment. "I can't accept them."

"Please," Don requested, lifting them out of the box. "I insist."

Betty opened her mouth to speak, but no words came out. Part of her wanted to shove the necklace and flowers in his face and tell him that she never wanted to see him ever again. It would be easy to say the words and have him out of her life, out of the private aspect at least. But she said nothing.

"May I?" Don asked, coming up behind her to place the jewels around her neck.

Betty meekly nodded her head and pulled her hair back. Don fumbled with the clasp as he examined beads of water that still clung to her skin. _I'm being punished _he thought to himself as he placed the necklace around her neck, inhaling her shampoo as he closed the necklace. He slowly backed away, not wanting to make her uncomfortable.

"It's a perfect fit," he admired.

Betty lifted the flowers to her nose. "You've outdone yourself," she scolded.

"I don't plan on ever doing it again," Don vowed. He had spent the majority of the morning and early afternoon dumping liquor contents down the sink and getting rid of the bottles. He would have to explain why to Megan, but he had plenty of time to concoct the perfect lie.

"Then you're quitting cold turkey?" Betty asked incredulously as Don told her what he had done earlier that day.

"I'm going to try," he said slowly. "I haven't been very happy lately, and I think the bottles might be part of it."

"That'll be very difficult to do in your line of work," Betty said with a raised eyebrow.

"I have to try. There are things more important than alcohol you know."

Betty turned a slight shade of red at his statement. "I've never heard you say that before."

"Birdie, I'm trying to apologize."

"You always were great at those. You've made so many."

"Especially to you," he added. "You need to know that I'd never want to hurt you like that, or put you in a position where you'd feel unsafe."

Betty nodded her head, tears beginning to form behind her eyes.

"Please don't cry," Don said softly, daring to step forward.

"You never did like it when I cried," she whispered between soft sobs.

"So many of those tears were because of me. Birdie, I…"

"Don't say it, please," Betty begged, fearing what was coming. "Please just leave it at the apology."

Don nodded his head. "Enjoy the pearls."

"They're lovelier than the original ones. You have excellent taste."

"Do I?" Don queried, lightly.

"Impeccable at times. And the flowers are beautiful."

Don offered Betty a small smile. "See you next weekend?"

"Next weekend?"

"When you drop the kids off at the apartment."

"Yes," Betty replied, slightly startled. "See you next weekend."

Don turned to go out the front door.

"Don!" Betty dashed after him, meeting him at the front of the house."

"Yes?"

"I really hope that you feel better."

"So do I," Don said, relieved to see that she hadn't written him off completely.

Betty opened her mouth to speak, but no words came out.

"Was there something else?" Don asked.

Betty shook her head, deciding that the apology was truly enough for one day. "Drive home safe."

Don let out a low chuckle, walking out the door and to the car, his heart feeling slightly lighter. He was going to feel better, he was going to get better, and there was still the opportunity of her.


End file.
